“Why, they will go in the satchel, mother; I don’t have to carry them.”

“Yes, you must take one pair.  Your feet will be dusty from your long walk, and you must have a fresh pair for the second day.  Where is your rain-coat?”

“Rain-coat?  Why, I never thought of it.”

“A checker-board would not keep the rain from wetting you should there come up a sudden shower.  You must have it in, no matter what you leave at home.”

“Paul and Fritz did not say they would take their rain-coats in their knapsacks.”

“Perhaps not, but their mothers did, and mothers know best.  What is in this box?”

“My writing paper; you gave it to me at Christmas.”

“A hundred sheets!  Do you expect to write a hundred letters while you are in Frankfort?  If so, you will not see much of the city.  You must take in your knapsack only what you will really need upon your journey, and with only that you will find it heavy enough.”

The mother put the knapsack in care of Franz when ready for the journey, and he took it to his room; then hurried to the home of Fritz to see how the packing was progressing there, and found that the good mother of the boy had given the same wise advice in regard to the packing of the knapsack.  Then the two went to the home of Paul and found that the same plan had ruled out the useless things that Paul had intended should journey to Frankfort in his knapsack.

At six o’clock the next morning Franz and Paul had bidden their home people an affectionate farewell and were on their way to meet Fritz, when they saw him coming, knapsack upon his shoulder and leading his dog by a new green cord tied to the collar.

“Oh, Fritz!” they exclaimed in a breath, “surely you are not going to take Pixy on the journey to Frankfort?”

“Surely I am!  He wants to go, and I am going to take him.”

“Does your father and mother know it?”

“No, certainly not, or Pixy would be at home this minute.”

“But you had no right to take him without telling them,” said the thoughtful Paul.

“Pixy is mine and I have a right to take him, but I wish them to know that I have him, so I have written a postal telling them, and will drop it in the village letter box.  That will make it all right.”

“But your Aunt Fanny.  Will she like to have him?” asked Franz, doubtfully.

“Oh, she loves Pixy, and will be glad to see him.  When she comes to visit us in the summers, she always takes Pixy with her when she walks to the village or calls to see the neighbors.  Yes, indeed; she will be very, very glad to have him there.”

“He will have to eat on his way to Frankfort,” remarked Paul.

“Yes, but mother put up a great deal more than I can eat in this one day, and I will share with Pixy.”

“And I,” and “I, too,” said the others, for in their hearts they were glad to have his company; “but are you going to lead him all the way with that rope?”